


Agape

by louciferish



Series: Heroes on Ice [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Yuri!!! on Ice Fusion, Anxiety, Gen, M/M, Mild Angst, dance-off, figure skating AU, figure skating written by someone who has never ice skated, past Tim/Steph - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 13:38:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13548453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louciferish/pseuds/louciferish
Summary: Tim begins training for his return to figure skating with his hero, Dick, as his coach. Something something, the course of true love doesn't run smooth or whatever.Part two of my DC Yuri on Ice AU.





	Agape

**Author's Note:**

> Because I've fudged some ages, a quick rundown of ages on characters that have appeared or been mentioned at this point.
> 
> Tim - 18  
> Stephanie - 18  
> Dick - 22/23  
> Roy - 24  
> Cassandra - 19  
> Damian - 14  
> Barbara - 25  
> Kon - 18  
> Bart - 17

Tim has already been up for an hour when Dick finally stumbles into the kitchen. He's in his Olympic ring boxers and a black tank top, and his shaggy black hair is sticking up so persistently, it looks like he slept upside down, dangling from the rafters by his feet. Tim wouldn’t put it past him.

In the week they’ve been living together, Tim’s learned that freshly-awakened Dick Grayson can barely see or walk in a straight line, much less hold a reasonable conversation. They had a couple incidents the first few days that resulted in the Drake’s long-suffering housekeeper threatening to resign, so now Tim makes sure that everything his coach needs is ready and waiting for him in the morning.

All Dick has to do is grope his way along the kitchen island like a kid pulling herself around the rink for the first time, over to his usual spot at the breakfast table, and then wrap his hands around the hot coffee waiting for him - four sugars, too much milk. 

Tim has to admit to himself that he doesn't mind the setup. He'd be awake early to make his own coffee and breakfast anyway - might as well make twice as much. And after the nightmare fuel that was watching his idol put away half a box of sugary cereal the first morning, he's all too happy to replace that train wreck with some whole wheat toast, boiled eggs, fruit, and bacon.

Tim isn’t sure how Dick stayed alive on his own, and didn’t just collapse into a diabetic coma mid-program at some point. Then he found out that Bruce Wayne has a butler, and the pieces clicked into place. 

He continues scrolling through the news feed on his phone, catching up on world events and blocking out the deeply disturbing slurps and coos that Dick makes over his first morning coffee.

Once he’s drained the first cup, Dick manages get a refill without causing a major international incident, and then tucks into his breakfast like a starved hyena. Tim picks at his toast. Ten minutes later, having tucked his food into whatever void he stores it in, Dick rises from his seat. He stretches up onto his toes with his arms overhead, then drops back down onto his heels with a groan.

“Alright,” he says, pouting. “I’ll get dressed. Ready to go?” Tim gestures wordlessly at himself, already fully dressed in his workout gear, jacket, and sneakers. Dick just ruffles his hair on the way out of the room, with his customary sign off of, “Thanks for breakfast!”

At least, Tim thinks, blushing, he’s always _polite_ once he’s awake.

It also doesn’t ever take him long to get ready - Tim barely has time to finish his last piece of toast and chug his third coffee before Dick is back in the kitchen, now fully outfitted in his gym clothes and filling up water bottles for both of them. Then, it’s off for the warm-up run from the house to the rink.

Tim watches Dick’s ridiculously glossy hair bounce and flip as he jogs along behind him. He needs a haircut, unless he’s planning to bring back the ponytail phase from his first few years in Seniors. Or worse, the mullet.

It’s only been a week since Dick showed up in his office, offering to train him to return to competition, but already so much of what they do feels routine. Tim has learned a lot of Dick’s quirks and habits, and just adapted around him, like at breakfast. Dick, in turn, has made adjustments to fit himself more comfortably into Tim’s space, accepting Tim’s need for time to himself.

These things - changing coaches, uprooting a life, moving in with someone, defying your parents - they aren’t meant to be _easy_ , but so far its been exactly that, and that makes Tim nervous as hell. A streak of good fortune can only end in disaster.

“Did I tell you about my first national competition as a junior yet?” Dick asks him as they walk in the glass double doors to the Browns’ rink. Tim shakes his head. He probably knows the whole story anyway, but this is another thing he’s already learned from this experience: Dick Grayson loves to talk. He only half listens as they head into the locker rooms and get their skates on for practice, nodding absently at the appropriate points.

The story continues all the way until they step onto the ice and start to remove their skate guards, and apparently ends with, “And then Bruce grounded me from jumps for a week for that stunt.” Which, honestly, is how most of these stories have ended.

Tim glides out to the center of the ice first, with Dick tracing his path. So far, not much has changed here either. 

“I want to know what your strengths are,” Dick said on the first day, clapping his hands. “Pretend I’m not here. Show me your moves.”

He’d expected that was just for day one, but so far that’s been the whole of his practice - he runs through the same routines he would have before Dick arrived, now with the addition of his idol following him around the rink, just a few feet back. When he spins, Dick spins. When he jumps, Dick jumps. It threw him off the first few days - his knees ached from meeting the ice several times - but now he just focuses on the sound of his own blades cutting through the ice, tuning Dick out as much as he can.

When Tim said yes to this experience, he felt a fire through his veins. It was the same cocktail of thrill and anxiety that Tim has always associated with the moments before a competition. He was certain that Dick Grayson’s entry into his life would turn everything on its head.

But now he finds he’s a bit… bored. The heavy feeling starting deep in his heart is one he knows well: disappointment. What is the point, exactly, in doing the same things he’s always done on his own? Is Dick really such an amateaur at coaching that he has no idea where to start?

Tim bites his lip, feeling his blood begin to burn again. Dick wants to just follow his lead in this, huh? Maybe Tim should make himself a bit harder to follow. 

Before he can think about it through too much and ruin everything, he turns, readying himself for a jump. Normally, this is the portion of his routine where he does his triple lutz, so he gets into position, and then launches, spinning - one, two, three, four! - he two-foots the landing, stumbles, and slides to his knees. 

Behind him, Dick yells, “Yes!” as Tim crouches on the ice, clenching his fists and gasping for breath.

Something hits the concrete floor of the rink with a _whoosh_. “Tt, _pathetic_.” Tim looks up and sees a younger boy leaning up against the boards, watching. Spiked black hair, blue eyes, brown skin, and a judgmental air about other skaters? Has to be Damian Wayne.

Behind the boy, standing with crossed arms, is an older girl that Tim can’t quite place, though she seems familiar. She’s dressed in basic workout gear with a large canvas duffle slung across her shoulders, her black hair cut in a functional bob. She looks identically impressed with Tim’s attempt at a quad.

Stephanie, still in her pajamas, waves at Tim from the rink entrance. “Sorry to interrupt, you guys, but this brat wouldn’t stop banging on my door. He _claims_ he knows you, but I’m happy to call the police to come pick up a stray.”

“Dami!” Dick skates around Tim, rushing to the boards to meet the new arrivals even as Tim is struggling to push himself up from the ice. “What are you doing here? Does Bruce know where you are?”

“I’ve come to pick you up,” Damian says, folding his arms over his chest. “Cain can stay, that’s _fine_ , but you need to get back to training immediately. I require it.” Dick just laughs, the sound echoing off the walls of the rink, and ruffles Damian’s hair in much the same way he did with Tim this morning. “I’m very serious,” the kid continues, expertly dodging Dick’s attempt at a hug. “I expect you to at least make a futile effort to compete with me next year. You can’t just waste your time with some random loser.”

“Hey,” Steph cocks her hip, jabbing a finger at Damian. “That’s my random loser. Only I’m allowed to talk about Tim like that.”

Tim just stands on the ice, legs splayed for balance like a baby deer, glancing back and forth between Dick and Damian. He _knows_ the Junior skater is kind of a jerk - it’s come through loud and clear in interviews the past few years - but his creepy stalker heart also knows that Dick is _always_ at Damian’s public practices and competitions. The two are obviously close, and Tim is hesitant to say anything, not sure where he fits with this dynamic.

He’s already taking Dick from his home, from his career, and even from his coach-slash-adoptive-father just by letting him into his life for this experiment. Is he pulling him away from Damian too? At what point, exactly, is Tim just _too selfish_?

He pulls himself back to reality and discovers he missed part of the conversation, lost in his own head. Damian is now gesturing violently in his direction. “Can he even land a jump at all? I hope you have him competing in Juniors so I can _destroy_ him.”

Dick glances back at Tim for the first time since Damian’s arrival, a sly smile briefly gracing his lips. “Oh, really? What do you think, Tim? Would Damian wipe the ice with your face?”

“Probably,” Tim shrugs. Damian snorts loudly as Dick’s eyebrows jump to meet his hairline. Steph is shaking her head at him from over the new girl’s shoulder, but… “Damian’s been competing regularly since he was six. He won gold at Junior Nationals as the youngest skater competing. If I were fourteen and competing against him, he’d definitely beat me. And I’m five years out of practice competing now, so, yeah. If I had to skate against him right now, he’d definitely win.” Dick puts his hand over his face - disappointed? Welcome to the club.

Damian, however, just smirks. “See, Grayson? Even he admits its true. You really want to saddle yourself to an amateaur who doesn’t even have competitive spirit? He’ll probably chicken out before his feet even touch ice at the first competition.”

“Hang on,” Tim interrupts before Dick can respond to that. “I acknowledged you’re the better skater at the moment. That doesn’t mean I don’t have a _spine_. You might be more practiced than I am now, but that doesn’t mean I can’t catch up - and I will.” He can see Damian slowly turning red. The kid really does have quite a temper. “In the meantime, you don’t see me challenging you to a debate on business ethics. It wouldn’t be a fair competition.”

“Whatever, name the contest,” Damian yells. “On or off the ice, I’ll wipe the floor with you! And then Grayson comes back home, with _me_.”

Tim opens his mouth to reiterate that this is a stupid idea - after all, he’s a college student. Damian is a great skater, but he’s barely in high school. He’s caught off guard when Dick just winks over his shoulder at him. “Oh, what a great idea,” he says. “How about a little friendly competition? Winner takes all - which is me!”

“Great,” Damian says, crossing his arms again. “Start packing your bags now.”

Stephanie laughs loudly, then stops, slapping her hand against the boards with a crack. “Spoiler alert, kiddo - Tim’s going to send you crying back to your daddy.” This might be getting out of hand.

Dick taps his fingers on his chin, taking it all in, “Okay, I’ve decided,” he announces calmly. “We’re having a dance-off.”

Damian goes sheet white immediately, which is… weird. He was so cocky before, but maybe he’s embarrassed. Tim remembers how it felt to try to dance in front of people at fourteen. He’s still not overly fond of it at eighteen, but at least he’s not so petrified of the experience as to freeze up the way the younger boy has. 

“Fine by me,” Tim says, skating over to the rink entrance and grabbing his skate guards.

Damian huffs, “Whatever. When this is over, I’m going to dance _on your grave_.”

Tim wonders if he learned to be so dramatic from Dick, or if maybe it’s something they both picked up from Bruce Wayne. Is being extra genetic?

“I’ll get the music going while you guys get ready,” Steph says, jogging off to the sound booth. Tim plops down on the nearest bench, unlaces his skates, and puts his sneakers back on. 

Once he finishes, he stands, looking at Dick apprehensively. “So, we’re just doing this here?” Dick just winks at him in response, so Tim takes that as a yes. He licks his lips, stretching briefly to loosen the muscles he tensed for skating, then nods at Stephanie to start the music.

He hears a [distinctive tinny snare beat](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PEGccV-NOm8) start up and frowns. This doesn’t sound like any of his usual dance music? Then the lyrics start and he groans. “Steph, stop screwing around!”

He can’t see her in the booth, but he can clearly hear the high-pitched giggle in the moments before a [more comfortable piano introduction](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z7bQkBbaIo4) begins playing. This is a routine he and Steph used to do together at the studio for fun pretty often, and he immediately feels the nervous tension drop out of his neck and shoulders as the beat picks up, able to nearly close his eyes and ignore the audience as he leaps and spins with the beat. 

The space he’s in is smaller than the studio, so he has to cut everything shorter, his limbs held more closely to his body. Will this truncated version be enough for him to win? His brain unhelpfully reminds him that if he screw up, Dick could be packing up and leaving. His final jump is higher than is really safe so near the benches, and he stumbles the landing, falling to one knee as the song ends.

The silence after the music is quickly shattered by the sound of enthusiastic clapping, and he looks up to see Dick, Steph, and even the new girl all loudly applauding, despite the fall. He stands, brushing the dirt from his knees. “Your turn, I guess,” he says to Damian, whose face is fire engine red.

“Fine,” he spits. But instead of asking for music, he picks up his backpack, slings it back over one shoulder, and stalks out of the building. Tim can’t do much but blink in his wake. Are they supposed to follow him outside?

Tim looks to Dick for his cue, but Dick already has his phone up to his ear, smiling. “Hey, Alfie,” he says into the mic. “Just wanted to let you know Dami’s on his way back home. Yeah. You can probably just come pick him up at the bus stop over here. Oh, and don’t be surprised if he suddenly starts asking about those dance lessons after all. Okay, love you. Tell Bruce I said ‘hi’.”

He thumbs the call to an end. “Sorry about that,” he says, turning to smile at Tim. “I might have rigged the game in your favor a little. Bruce and I have been after Damian to take dance lessons for like six years, and he wouldn’t do it because he insisted it was ‘pointless’.” He shrugs. “If Damian sees the point of dance now, that’s a bonus.”

Stephanie strides back over to the group and gives Tim a high five that he doesn’t deserve. “The evil has been defeated,” she intones dramatically. “Now let's take Chatty Cathy over here to get settled in at Barbara’s.”

“My name is Cassandra,” the new girl says suddenly, adjusting her duffel bag and grabbing the handle of the roller bag behind her. “Not Cathy.”

“Great,” Steph throws an arm around Cassandra’s shoulders, ignoring her stiff posture. “Welcome to the fun side of Gotham, Cass. I’m sure you’ll fit in in no time.”

-

Getting Cass settled in at Bab’s studio somehow devolves into a critique of Tim’s dance routine from the rink, which Steph recorded on her phone _of course_. That turns into an argument about the general merits of performing classical ballet to modern music, and that somehow turns into Stephanie and Barbara both speculating that Tim should perhaps take up _pole dancing_. Then Dick starts theorizing about the benefits of a well-developed core in skating and Tim just, nope. He walks out.

He winds up going back to the rink, because Damian’s arrival had interrupted his practice anyway. Halfway down the block he realizes that Dick didn’t follow him, but honestly, does Tim even need him right now? So much of Dick’s attempt at coaching the past week has just involved Tim doing what he was doing before, and he can do that without the other man trailing him like a shadow. 

There’s no one else at the rink since it’s still only mid-morning, so Tim has only his thoughts for company as he traces figures on the ice. He tries to focus on something productive, but like his feet, his brain too runs in circles and infinities, tracing back over the issue of Dick Grayson.

Really there are two issues: one, that Tim may have selfishly torn his hero from his career and his family with no guaranteed reward, and two, that Tim may have done this only to find that his childhood idol is not even a very good coach. He shakes his head vehemently, but the thoughts crowd in. He tries to jump away his frustrations instead, but the clean triple lutz he lands just reminds him of the failed quad from morning practice, and how Dick had seemed strangely elated by the fall. 

He circles around, and spots Dick, leaning on the boards with his hands cupping his chin, watching silently. He stops short in the middle of the ice, then skates over, putting his hands onto the boards on either side of Dick’s. “Any instructions, coach?” He asks, a little breathless, hoping.

Dick shakes his head, smiling softly. “You’re doing fine.” 

Tim makes an inarticulate noise, and moves to the exit, grabbing his skate guards and clipping them on. As soon as he steps off the ice, Dick is hovering again, looming over him as he drops onto the bench to unlace his skates.

“Tim?” He keeps his head down, watching the laces slip through the eyelets. “Is something wrong?” He feels the ghost of a hand stirring his hair and jerks away.

“What are we doing here?” Tim keeps looking down, clasping his hands between his knees. “What are _you_ doing here? Is this just to, to get back at Bruce for something? Or to use me as a tool to help Damian?” He shakes his head. “I don’t understand. You rigged the contest in my favor, but why? Why stay?”

“Is this because of something Damian said earlier? Because he talks a lot, but I promise he’s really a pretty good kid.” Dick crouches down in front of him, but he keeps his hands to himself for once - probably because Tim has been coiled like a spring ever since he sat down. “And what you said earlier was reasonable - you can’t match him on the ice right now, but by the end of this season, I’m certain you will.”

“Then why aren’t you training me?” Tim asks, then winces as his voice echoes through the empty rink. “Don’t you know _how_?”

Dick takes a deep breath, and slowly rests his hand over Tim’s. Although he’d recoiled earlier, he relaxes now, accepting the gesture. “Honestly, no.”

Tim looks up sharply, meeting Divk’s eyes over their joined hands. “I know how to coach,” Dick elaborates carefully. “I’ve been helping Bruce with that for years. I’ve been involved with training a lot of the Juniors since I turned eighteen, but you, in particular?” He shrugs. “I’ve got no idea how to coach you.”

“Tim,” he licks his lips, his gaze darting away briefly before he pulls himself back, continuing. “I’ve lived in your house for a week and I still feel like I barely know you sometimes. You lock the door to your bedroom when you’re inside and when you leave. You show up to practice with level of dedication I never had, but when we finish for the day? You retreat. I keep trying to reach out, but you still seem really uncomfortable with me being here. I just wanted to see what you could really do, and give us a chance to get comfortable with each other before I started ordering you around.”

“So,” Tim feels his mouth twist and pulls his hands away, gripping his arms. “I’m screwing it up, huh? I can fix it. You want in my room? Fine, you can,” he feels his face heat. “You can sleep in my bed, if that’s what you want.”

“Tim,” Dick huffs, not quite a laugh. “I don’t need you to force yourself to trust me when you don’t. I need you to actually take the time, and let me see what you’re really like under there.” He taps Tim’s forehead. “Like that quad lutz earlier today - wow! A week together doing the same thing every day, and then suddenly you took a chance and surprised me.” He grins up at Tim. “You didn’t land it, sure, but you had the height and the rotations. What made you decide to do that?”

“I was, um. I was frustrated. About doing the same thing every day.” He doesn’t add, and I was worried you’d get bored and leave. He folds that part up, and he stores it away someplace dark. 

“Okay, well we can work with that. I can _definitely_ work with that.” Dick’s grin twists into a smirk, and Tim tilts his head back at him, questioning. “My first Junior Nationals was also where I met Roy Harper for the first time. I really looked up to him, watched all his performances the year before, and so I went up to him before the competition and wished him luck in his short program. You know what he said back to me?” Tim shakes his head. “He said, ‘Kiss my ass, kid’.” 

Dick snorts, and then dissolves into laughter at his own story while Tim just stares. “It’s funny now,” he gasps, “Because we’re friends and we were both _so tiny_ back then. I mean, he’s only like a year older, and he’s calling me ‘kid’? But at the time I was furious. God. Never meet your idols, I guess.”

There’s a sarcastic remark on the tip of his tongue, but Tim decides to go for the safer option. “You always seemed to like competing against him,” Tim says, and Dick hums in response. “Aren’t you going to miss that, with coaching me? He’ll probably take all your titles.”

“Roy missed out on two seasons due to illness. He deserves every one of those titles, if he wants them.” Dick shakes his head, then finally rises from the floor to sit beside Tim on the bench, stretching out his legs. “Besides, if he can do that, and you can make a return after five years, you don’t think I can come back after one?”

“I know I sound as bratty as Damian when I say things like this,” Dick continues, smiling at the floor. “Because when you’re successful, no one wants to hear you complain, but the last couple years have been… hm… boring.” He shakes his head. “There was a time when I was this nobody kid with a big dream and no one to turn to. And then, with some great help, I got the opportunities I needed. I took everything I could get, and I achieved my goals. And the whole ride has been amazing but,” he runs a hand through his hair. “Where do I go from there? I don’t know. I lost my grip on those big dreams.”

He finally looks up, turning to Tim and clasping his shoulder. “But seeing you, that video, and the work you’ve put in on your own? I’ve said it before - it’s incredible. And I want to see what kind of new dreams I can make here, with you.” Tim averts his eyes, but he can feel the corners of his mouth stretching up. A new dream, or maybe a very old one.


End file.
